


Mistakes are the Best Teachers (Except When the Teachers Make the Mistakes)

by orphan_account



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, Future Fic, Gen, M/M, Scott and Alison have a kid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-14
Updated: 2012-10-14
Packaged: 2017-11-16 06:53:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/536702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I'm thirty, I'm not supposed to be cute.”</p>
<p>“To be fair you still look twenty two.” Derek adds, a smirk in place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mistakes are the Best Teachers (Except When the Teachers Make the Mistakes)

**Author's Note:**

> An idea I’ve had bobbing around for a while, and felt like getting out. Silly, fluffy. Not au, but a future fic.

Stiles fumbles with his phone, dropping it once on the damp autumn grass of his front yard, before managing to unlock the screen and answer it. “H'llo?”

“Stiles, you're taking Jacob to the conference.”

“Uh.” Stiles checks his watch. “The teacher conferences that are in twenty minutes? That you and Scott are supposed to go to? Because _you're his parents_?”

Alison gives him a frustrated sigh. “Scott is tied up at the hospital and Lydia is having a major pregnancy freak out.”

It's Stiles' turn to sigh. “Ugh, fine.” Because Scott can't be dragged away from his patients anymore than Stiles would want to be dragged away from his job at the history museum—that is, not at all. “What do I have to do?”

“It's seventh grade, Stiles, not a battleground. Just, get Jacob and he'll take you to all the teachers and you just take notes on what they tell you, okay?”

“Right.” Stiles hurries back to his jeep, “totally, I can do that. Should I just keep him for the night?”

“No curly fries.”

“Extra curly fries? Oh he'll be so pleased.” And Stiles hangs up before Alison can protest.

)

Stiles hurries up to Jacob. “Hey, kiddo, sorry I'm late.”

The shaggy brunette, who looks so much like a little Scott, shrugs. He's kind of a sourpuss, but Stiles thinks it's just the combination of werewolf puberty and real puberty hitting him at the same time. “S'okay. You didn't have to come.”

Stiles ruffles his hair. “Your mom asked me to.”

“And Scott asked _me_ to.”

Stiles starts, slapping Jacob upside the head on accident, and earning him a pitchy growl. (Still the funniest thing Stiles has ever heard.) “Derek! Hey!”

“You don't have to act like you're in trouble, Stiles. We're all adults here.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Barely.”

Derek mimics him. “You can go, if you want.”

“What?”

“Only one of us really needs to be here—?”

“Actually,” a new voice cuts in, “we encourage both parents to attend the conferences so that the teachers can receive accurate feedback!” She's a cheery, blonde woman. Just a little too skinny for how tall she is, and just this side of 'matronly old lady' rather than 'banging cougar.' Stiles tilts his head. “Come on, come on, I'm sure your son knows where all his classes are by now, right?”

She ushers them out of the courtyard and to the doors of the school, chattering on and on about the middle school's excellent reputation. Stiles looks at Derek, who looks as lost as him.

“Uh, ma'am—?”

“Oh, your name is Jacob, right?” She leans down a bit to look him in the eye. “Where's your first class.”

“Honors.” And with that, Jacob turns on his heel and wordlessly guides Stiles and Derek away, across the hall to a door covered in paper cut outs of covers of books.

The teacher—for honors English, Stiles infers—is a salt-and-pepper haired man, tall and lanky and grinning in that sort of “I'm better than you and I think it's cute you think otherwise” sort of way. “It's so nice to meet Jacob's parents!” He takes each of their hands in a handshake. “He's great in class, very interested and very dedicated. He has a slight problem reading, and I noticed—?”

Stiles nods on reflex. “He's dyslexic, but it's not so bad right?”

The teacher shakes his head with a fond laugh. “Not at all. In fact, he seems to try harder, because of it.”

Derek nods too.

“Well, there honestly isn't anything bad to say—he's doing very well in class, he's a pleasure to have in class, you're both doing a great job.”

Stiles and Derek reply in unison, “thanks.”

They don't share the identical scandalized looks until they're out of the classroom.

“Does everyone think we're Jacob's dads?”

“Yep.” Jacob supplies, this time tugging them down the hall in the direction of his health class.

“I—are we just gonna let them think that?”

“Why the fuck not?”

“Jacob! Language!” Stiles snaps because he _knows_ Jacob is only allowed to say damn, hell, and shit—no fucks, per Alison's request. It's stupid but it's the rules.

Derek laughs, and Stiles wants to punch him in the face.

“I'm tell them you're the misses.”

“That's heteronormative.” Jacob informs him, shoving him into the health classroom.

)

After four more visits with teachers, and another awkward run in with the blonde lady from before—the new assistant vice principal, they learn—where she apologizes for just assuming, and they tell her it's alright, no harm done. (Except for a lot of harm done to Stiles' pride and to Derek's ribs from laughing so hard.)

“You finished?” Alison's voice crackles over the phone. Stiles nods, humming affirmative, as he watches Derek give Jacob some talk about werewolf stuff. “It go okay?”

“Went fine, nothing major. He's got a B in health but I guess there's a project so he'll have an A again soon or something. And all of his teachers said that he's not letting the dyslexia hold him back, and they're all very enamored with your perfect little boy.”

Alison laughs, pleased. “Lydia is fine now, and I'm home. Bring him by?”

“Sure.” Stiles promises; they bid goodbye and Stiles slips his phone back into his pocket. “Time to go home, kid.”

Jacob grins at him, less reserved and sour, more open. Stiles grins at Derek, because it's always the little 'born werewolf' talks that make Jacob a little happier. He just makes a mental note not to mention it to Scott, because Scott doesn't need to be insecure about his relationship with his son.

“Curly fries?”

“Get that B to an A and we'll talk.” Stiles ruffles his hair again. “Should I take him or?”

Derek shrugs. “I walked here, so maybe you.”

“You walked here?”

“It was close.”

“Close in human reasoning, or werewolf reasoning.”

Derek's silence is a pretty obvious answer.

“Oh my god, seriously, you have a car. You have a _nice_ car. I don't—you are such a weirdo.” Stiles pinches the bridge of his nose, and opens his mouth to further rant about Derek's absurdities when a mother, plump and sweet stops by them.

“Can I just say how refreshing it is to see a gay couple with a kid? It's so sweet, and you two are just _adorable_.” She pats their cheeks in the way a grandmother might, and hurries off with her two kids in tow.

“I'm thirty, I'm not supposed to be cute.”

“To be fair you still look twenty two.” Derek adds, a smirk in place.

Stiles bristles. “Just get in the damn car.”

)

After they've dropped Jacob off and are on the road back to the rebuilt Hale mansion, Stiles flushes pink. “Do we really look like two people that'd be a couple—or have a kid?”

Derek shrugs, oddly relaxed in his seat on the passenger's side.

“I mean. Okay. I don't know.”

Derek laughs, breath fogging in the chilly evening air. “It wasn't like they were clamoring over us.”

“Still, though,” Stiles takes the usual right turn off the road to the tired-paved path to the house.

“Like you haven't thought about it?”

“What, kids? Not really, Jacob and Lydia's to-be-tyrant are enough for me!” He takes the next turn maybe a little too sharp, and skids to a stop in front of the house.

“Stiles.”

“Derek.”

“It's not like I don't know.”

Stiles peeks at Derek from the corner of his eye. “Yeah?”

He nods, and grins, and opens the passenger side door. “C'mon.”

“You're not kidding around here, right?”

“I thought you said I couldn't tell a joke to save my life.”

Stiles laughs, and all but topples out of the driver's side. “You can't, it's true, ask anyone.”

Derek waits by the front door for him, and once they're toe to toe, he grabs Stiles by the collar of his shirt and hauls him inside.


End file.
